


Life After This

by TeaHouseMoon



Series: Apartment 61 series [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Angst!, Continues from Apartment 61, Don’t worry, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Oliver, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Oliver, Smut, but happy ending, divorcee Oliver, jealous elio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Continues from the end of Apartment 61!Elio and Oliver are together, still living in the same building in Manhattan - and they deal with their relationship as it grows. With a few bumps in the road...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! I know I said the story was over. I know...but it seems I can’t let it go.  
> I want to try and continue it - but this would be from Oliver’s point of view. So perhaps we can also explore how he felt when the first part of the story was unfolding... (basically, a compromise between the two ideas we had :) )

“I’ll be late,” Oliver says, between kisses.

“Mmh.” Elio moans. “It’s just a meeting.”

The water pouring from the shower, down to his hair, trickles into his eyes and Elio is forced to keep them closed, or blink - but he still keeps chasing Oliver’s mouth.

“Fuck me. Please?”

Oliver tries to breathe through the water and hot steam.

“Again? We said we’d have a quick shower.”

Oliver isn’t really being serious, of course. He doesn’t need Elio to persuade him.

But he does have a meeting, in fact, in exactly an hour, downtown, with his editor. He regrets scheduling it now.

He has a wet, horny, beautiful Elio in his arms, and he’d much rather stay under the shower with him, holding his breath to kiss, until the water runs cold. But he can’t.

“I have to go,” he insists, fighting with himself to sound firm, because Elio’s hand is wrapped around him, and the pleasure is already intense. “But now you got me all hot and bothered.”

“Ugh,” Elio grimaces, in jest, teasing, water still trickling down from his long eyelashes. “Fine. I know what you want.”

The boy drops to his knees on the floor of the shower, and a moment later Oliver is inside his warm, wet mouth. His hand goes to Elio’s head automatically.

“Fuck. I love your mouth.”

Elio’s lips are really made for everything. Made to be kissed - so well defined, red, shaped like a heart - and made for sucking Oliver. So plump, soft and warm.

Oliver comes quickly when the thoughts come into his mind, and he pulls Elio up, kisses him, strokes him until he comes too. Promises him he’ll give him something better that night.

“So, you like my new apartment, then?” the older man asks, later, as they towel themselves off.

Elio smiles. “Yeah. It’s great. It’s perfect.” He reaches up to kiss Oliver’s lips quickly - his hair is still wet, it curls in ringlets. Oliver makes a mental note to remind Elio never to cut it again.

And to ask him the question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’ve already talked about it. In not so many words; not exactly explicitly.

Yes, they live in the same building. But now, with Oliver soon to be no longer married - his divorce is being finalised - and having moved into a new apartment on the fourth floor, there’s space for Elio to move in. For him and Oliver to share, instead of Elio sharing with roommates.

When they did touch on the subject, Elio had been evasive.

“We see each other every day. We’re settled where we live. And I’m only twenty years old. There’s plenty of time.”

Oliver had tried to reason that, really, they were living together back in Italy, too; and that right now, with their relationship out in the open as much as it can be, it would make sense.

Elio had said he wanted to ‘take it slow.’

Oliver can’t deny it - it had hurt a little. But, on a level, he did understand.

But now? Over a year after they’ve found each other again. With Elio still living with his roommates - with one of them being his ex boyfriend; it makes less sense. 

Oliver doesn’t know how to put it into words, but it’s a strange arrangement. And, he can’t deny it: his insecurity rears its ugly head more often than not.

Does Elio still have feelings for Matt? Is he still trying to stay close to him, trying to keep both, in a way? Is this the reason?

Oliver stops his thoughts from going further down that road. He trusts Elio. He doesn’t have reason to doubt him. Between the two of them, he himself is the one who caused a mess between two people who were linked to him, at the time - Elio and his wife. Elio has always tried to be truthful.

And so has Matt. Oliver doesn’t know him well at all, but he knows he respects Elio. He respects Oliver, too.

Although Oliver isn’t stupid; he knows Matt stills feels for Elio.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that, most of the times - so he tries to push the thought out of his mind as much as he can.

That evening, he comes home with chocolates and champagne, and sets both up in the bedroom, on the nightstand. He only leaves the soft light of a lamp on, and then waits for his young partner. And, on cue, he hears a knock on the door. 

“Hey,” he greets Elio, pulls him to himself with an arm around his shoulders. “Have you eaten?”

“Had pizza in the library,” Elio smiles, and kisses him. Then he hesitates. “What are you up to?”

Oliver takes him by the hand.

“Thought we could maybe continue what we started this morning? I did promise you something, I recall.”

He waits for Elio to smile, watches his eyes gleam with mischievousness, and then he nudges him gently along until they get to the bedroom. He takes off Elio’s jacket for him while the boy looks around.

“Champagne and chocolates?” He beams. He looks so childlike when he gets like that - and Oliver loves it.

“And the bed. Don’t forget the bed,” Oliver jokes, pulling Elio to himself.

They kiss, Elio’s arms wrapped around his neck, his fingers into Oliver’s hair, ruffling it. Oliver pinches Elio’s tiny nipples through his shirt; gently, but enough times to make Elio moan into the kiss, squirm, and gasp, separating their mouths, breathing already disrupted.

Oliver kisses his forehead. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Elio responds, softly.

“Let’s have some of this,” Oliver says then. He pours champagne in glasses for the both of them. Elio, as ever impatient, tries one of the chocolates.

“They’re my favorite,” he comments. And Oliver kisses him, and can taste the cocoa and caramel from his lips.

“But seriously. What’s the occasion?”

Oliver kind of wants to clear his throat at Elio’s question. He doesn’t want to push it. But he needs to ask - so, he just goes for it. Looking Elio in the eyes, taking a breath.

“Move in with me?”

He watches, as Elio blinks his doe eyes.

“I’m not going to push. Of course not. But I just think - it would make so much sense. You’d still live in this building, but we’d have our own life, and the guys could have theirs.” There’s a heavy reference to Matt in that part of his speech. He hopes, really hopes that Elio sees that there’s no malice behind it.

Elio sighs, looks down; then back up at Oliver.

“Are you going to get mad if I don’t say yes?”

“No. No, baby, of course not.”

Elio sighs again, plays with the chocolate wrapper on the bedsheets.

“Let’s wait a little. I think - I’d like to wait,” he says. Softly.

Oliver looks into his eyes again. Trying to find more into Elio’s expression, into the way he’s frowning. But then, he nods.

He wants to ask him to elaborate, but the truth is that he’s scared of what the answer could be.

“I love you,” Elio says, and smiles, lightly. “I love that you - did this. I’m sorry I ruined it.”

Oliver sighs. “You didn’t.” He takes Elio into his arms, kisses the top of his head. “I love you too.”

He lets Elio kiss him, and they lay in bed,interlink their hands. They don’t say anything else.

After sex, Oliver watches Elio sleep for a few moments. And then he sleeps too, though he was worried he wouldn’t be able to.


	2. Chapter 2

The day Oliver got married, he thought he had successfully left Italy behind.

It was a Jewish wedding, of course. Jennifer wanted to follow tradition as much as possible. And of course, Oliver’s family was delighted.

As Oliver watched his bride walk towards him, as he waited for her by the chuppah, as he looked at the happy faces of the guests - the proud face of his mother, his father, standing serious and composed, like he was finally receiving what was owed to him - he made himself smile. He thought he could.

Jennifer was pretty in her long white dress, her hair pulled into a simple bun. Her eyes shining.

Oliver smiled more, took her hand, drank from the cup, recited the vows in which they forgave each other’s past mistakes.

He felt his father’s eyes planted right into the middle of his back.

He broke the glass dutifully and smiled more - the rabbi told him he could kiss the bride. And he did.

As they walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, guests clapping and shouting Mazel Tov, he thought this would be the same with Elio. They could have a Jewish ceremony. Elio would look stunning. They would hold hands, and kiss, and Elio would be smiling at him, even brighter than Jennifer was now.

Promptly, he felt like the worst person alive, and he blinked, forced the thought out of his mind. Elio didn’t exist anymore. Elio never existed.

At the time, Oliver felt he’d avoided the biggest, most destructive storm, just narrowly. His father looked at him with contempt, but he was still talking to him, and that had to be enough for now.

 

 

 

 

 

Despite everything, Oliver kept in touch with Samuel Perlman. They spoke on the phone every couple of months or so. They discussed his book. Oliver still had a lot of questions for him, right up until he needed to send everything to print.

He mailed the very first copy to Samuel; his note, inscribed on the first page of that one book, read ‘This book is dedicated to the Perlman family, and to a summer in Italy, in 1983’.

He wanted to lie to himself and so he refused to think about it the moment he left the post office; but he hoped with all of himself that, somehow, Elio would see the message.

Now that he thinks about it, that time - the first year and a half of his marriage - passed so quickly, and so slowly, at the same time.

He liked Jennifer enough - at least for a while.

She worked as a nurse. She was busy. She did a lot of night shifts, and that was fine, because writing a book meant Oliver spent a lot of time at home. He credits this as one of the reasons he managed, for the first few months at least. And he doesn’t feel good about it.

For a while, he started thinking he could try and tell Jennifer. Not about Elio, no; not about his relationship with the boy, while she and Oliver were on a break. 

But perhaps something about his past, about seeing men, too, about his first kiss in high school, with this boy who got sent away by his family. His fear of his own parents doing the same to him.

But then Jennifer started talking about children, about how her parents wanted grandkids, about how they both were already twenty-five years old. She wanted two girls and one boy.

She said one of her girl friends had already been married for three years, and didn’t have any children, and she thought her husband must be gay. And how awful was that?

Oliver hadn’t tried to say anything, after that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver still remembers the moment he saw Elio again, in the lobby of their building. Bumped into him, and Elio had raised wide eyes on him, his face changing to shock. So expressive all the time, his Elio.

His cheeks were rosy, from the chilly air outside. Oliver doesn’t think his heart stopped beating like crazy for hours afterwards.

Now, as he looks at him, laying on the couch next to him, Oliver can see the same rosy cheeks; the same raven curls, the same long eyelashes. The strong eyebrows.

Elio is watching an episode of Miami Vice on tv, almost hanging upside down on the couch, and Oliver is staring at him - completely uninterested in what’s happening on the screen. Completely taken by the gorgeous boy in his arms.

“Stay here tonight?” Oliver asks, softly.

“Mh?” Elio looks up. “Yeah. Just need to go get a change of clothes. Got class at 9am tomorrow.”

Oliver looks at him for another long moment, and then sighs. He wishes Elio had his stuff in this apartment, not somewhere else; but he’s not going to comment on it. Every time the thought comes to his mind, he tries to push it aside.

If Elio’s not ready to move in yet, then he’s not ready. Oliver will wait.

But he won’t wait to kiss him, though. He leans down to kiss Elio’s left nipple through his light T-shirt; once, twice, until he feels Elio squirm.

“Oliver! I’m gonna miss Don Johnson’s stunts,” the boy protests playfully.

“Goose. He’s too old for you.”

When Oliver lifts his shirt up, Elio of course, lets him. He rolls over on the couch a little bit to give Oliver better access; and closes his eyes, sighs deeply as Oliver kisses and sucks his other nipple.

He bucks up a little with his skinny hips, and Oliver chuckles.

“Not being very subtle, are we?” the older man teases.

“Please. I’ll let you fuck me from behind after.”

Oliver snarls, nearly comes from the sound of Elio’s voice alone, the filthy words from his mouth. He swears to himself he will draw more moans, more dirty requests from the boy before the night is over. 

“If you think I’m going to let you go anywhere now...” Oliver growls; pulls Elio’s pants down, kisses him, swallows him down to the root. Relishes Elio’s cries of ‘oh, fuck’, as he bucks his hips a little, tries to chase after his pleasure already.

And Oliver is being serious. He’ll lock Elio into his apartment if he has to; he’s his now, for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Elio is chanting in panic the morning after, as he hops around, picks up his clothes, runs his fingers through unruly hair. “Fuck.”

Still laying in bed, Oliver looks at the time: it’s 8 am.

“You’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure, voice groggy with sleep, and his eyes wanting to close again. They were awake until almost 4 in the morning. He’s exhausted.

“I have to go I have to go.”

Elio bends over him, kisses his cheek quickly.

“See you later. I love you.”

Oliver smiles, as he hears the door close with a slam.

He falls back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver doesn’t mean to be soppy - but when he thinks that he’s with Elio, now, that he and Elio are together, he still can’t believe it.

He really thought it was over when he left Italy, he really thought he would never see the boy again, and why shouldn’t he have thought that? It didn’t seem like there was any hope for them.

But then, thanks to a little nudge to fate by the Perlmans, they met again - and now, now Elio is sleeping next to him, in his bed, and Oliver is still in disbelief every time he thinks about it.

He looks at Elio’s mouth, at his full lower lip. He looks at his freckles, light on his cheekbones and nose. He looks at how his chest moves with his slow breaths.

He can’t believe he found Elio, and then he lost him, found him again. If he thinks Elio could have fallen for somebody else... if he thinks of him with Matt - Oliver’s heart burns, with regret and with jealousy.

His therapist would say he needs to move on from it - and it’s true. He’s twenty-seven years old now. He’s made some really big decisions recently. He needs to take responsibility, take his life into his own hands. What’s happened before this - what’s happened with his wife, with Elio and Matt - it’s in the past. It should stay there.

The sound of the telephone ringing pulls him out of his contemplation. Elio grumbles, still asleep, and hides his face into the pillow. Oliver tries to move as carefully as he can not to wake him up. 

“Hello?”

“Hi! Still in bed, I see?”

His sister. Oliver takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Abi. When will you stop considering 9am as ‘late in the morning’?”

“Never! You know how I like being early. Anyway. Jennifer called me, so I thought I’d call you, see if you want to come over and talk, maybe you can also bring the boy so I can meet him?”

Abigail still talks a hundred miles an hour, and Oliver’s already wanting to slow her down.

“Jennifer called?”

“Yes. She’s changed her mind about the car. She wants it back.”

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose.

“She can have the damn car.”

“Now now, little brother. This is not why I became a lawyer for. Anyway - she’s upset. I can understand why she’s doing this.”

“And this is why I didn’t let you help me with the divorce. You’re still good friends with her.”

On the other end of the line, Abigail huffs - but it’s light hearted.

“Just - come over? Bring the boy. See you in a couple of hours.”

She’s made the decision, and in a way, Oliver is glad she did, because he would probably try to get out of it.

But, after all - she’s been a support. The only member of his family he could talk to about himself, about his new relationship.

Oliver takes a breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who was on the phone?” Elio asks, rolling over on the bed. His hair is a bird’s nest, and Oliver smiles tenderly.

“My sister.”

“What did she say?”

Oliver scoots closer on the bed, takes Elio’s hand in his.

“I want to take you to meet her today. What do you say?”

Blinking, Elio pulls himself up to sitting on the bed, rubs sleep from one eye. His mouth is swollen and red. Oliver wants to push him back down, kiss him until he can’t breathe - everything else be damned.

“Mmh, yeah, okay. I’ll - get ready,” he answers, obediently.

Oliver nods, and watches him get up, pad to the bathroom to pee.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi, Elio. I’m Abigail.”

Oliver’s sister is confident, very no-nonsense when she shakes Elio’s hand, and Oliver watches Elio’s face for signs of discomfort - but the boy seems alright.

She offers them both tea, and they drink quietly for a while, sat at the table in her neat living room, until she takes the reins again.

“Right, so. The car situation.”

“I told you. She can have it.” Oliver is hoping they can close this argument as quickly as possible.

“But you both paid for it, correct? So we need to draw up some paperwork here. I can do it.”

Oliver smirks.

“Not sure why you’re so into this, when you’ll try and look out for her, anyway.”

“That’s not true. But you can’t blame me for wanting to be fair, certainly. I’ll write up something and then I’ll give you a call so you can come and review.” She stops for a second, suddenly looks at Elio.

“God, this must be so boring for you, I’m sorry, Elio. I’m not this tedious usually.”

Oliver looks over at Elio too, but Elio’s smiling. A little shy, but smiling nonetheless.

Abigail is nothing but a good host, and directs the attention on Elio now - asks him about school, about Italy.

And then, their cups of teas are empty, and Abigail turns back to Oliver.

“Could you help me take these to the kitchen, please?”

Oliver, of course, knows that that’s code for ‘let’s talk’, and he gets up, resigned - but also curious as to what his sister is thinking. 

“Fine, okay, he looks like an angel - but how old is he, Oliver??” Abigail asks as soon as they are past the door, out of Elio’s earshot.

“He’s twenty,” Oliver replies.

Abigail looks at him.

“He looks younger.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not.”

He observes his sister, as she looks at him, pauses for a moment before speaking again. Her mouth downturned.

“Are you really sure you and Jennifer... I mean, you liked her, didn’t you?”

It makes Oliver sigh, a long, drawn out breath. With which he tries to keep hold of his patience.

“I don’t think you should fight Jennifer’s battles,” he says, an attempt at diplomacy. “She and I are over. She’s better off this way, trust me.”

Abigail nods, sighs, too.

“I guess I just want to make sure you are making the right decision.”

Oliver stares. He wants to speak, but he’s not going to. He doesn’t need to explain, to anyone, not even his sister.

He sighs, and then walks back towards the living room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abigail hugs both Oliver and Elio when they leave, and once they are on the subway, Oliver tries to meet Elio’s gaze.

“Everything okay?”

Elio looks up, smiles.

“Yes, of course.” He hesitates a moment, and Oliver knows there’s more. “What did she say to you when you went to the kitchen?”

Of course Elio would be able to suss out that they talked. Oliver isn’t surprised.

“Abi just wanted to make sure I’m happy. She was just being a big sister, I guess.” He stops, considers saying what he’s about to say. Perhaps it’ll help give Elio some perspective on Oliver’s past. “She was Jennifer’s friend. From before we dated. They’re still close, now.”

Elio nods, looks down.

“Is there anyone in your family who doesn’t like Jennifer?”

He looks up, shyly, unsure. Oliver hesitates; and Elio quickly corrects himself.

“Sorry, I - it’s fine.”

“Hey.” Oliver reaches out, nudges Elio’s chin up with a gentle hand so he can look into his eyes. “I don’t like her. Isn’t that enough?”

Elio’s eyes are unreadable for a moment, and then the boy looks away again, biting his lower lip, but doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they are walking back, the road is quiet, and so Oliver takes Elio’s hand. He’s relieved when Elio lets him, gives him a little smile. The air is chilly still, and his cheeks and nose are red - Oliver can’t wait to be home, in the warmth, with him.

But in the lobby, they meet Ash.

“Hey, guys,” he greets, and he seems in a hurry. “Uhm, Matt and I were wondering where you were... uh, we are going out, wanted to know if you wanted to join.”

He still fumbles when he’s in front of Oliver, when he sees he and Elio together. He was just only getting used to seeing Elio and Matt as a couple, and now that this older stranger has been brought into the equation, taken Matt’s place by Elio’s side, Oliver doesn’t think Ash is sure how to act just yet.

“We, huh..” Elio starts, and looks at Oliver, unsure. They hadn’t made plans yet. Oliver was kind of hoping Elio would spend the rest of the day with him, watching a movie perhaps, lazying on the couch.

“Do you want to go?”

Elio is asking him, his eyes searching Oliver’s. It’s evident he’d like to go. It’s Saturday night, after all.

“Don’t worry about me,” Oliver makes himself say. “I’m kind of tired. And have some writing to do. You - you go.”

He didn’t sound confident while saying it at all, and he can see it from Elio’s expression - the frown that crinkles his eyebrows, his set jaw - that the boy knows Oliver isn’t completely happy.

“Are you sure?” Elio asks. 

“Yeah. Totally. You should go out.”

Elio is still trying to read his eyes, but now there’s something different in his face; which Oliver can’t quite grasp.

Ash speaks, then - still tentative.

“Okay, well. Matt’s still home, if you - if you want to meet up with him - I’ll see you guys at the place.”

Elio nods at him, a little absentmindedly. Oliver smiles; and then, with a hand on the small of Elio’s back, guides the boy to the elevator.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver writes for a while, then gives up, sits down to watch some TV on the couch.

There’s nothing interesting on, but he watches something or other anyway, drinking whisky - a glass or two won’t hurt, after all.

And it’s then that he finds himself nodding off, then waking again when he hears the door being unlocked.

He knows who that is - he had a key made up for Elio some time ago.

“You still up?” the boy asks, closing the front door behind himself and taking his jacket off.

Oliver rubs sleep off his face and looks at the clock: it’s nearly one in the morning.

“Seems so,” he replies, groggily.

Elio is smiling, and walks over to him, straddles his legs, sits down to kiss him.

“Hey,” he greets again, softly.

“Mmh.” Oliver cups his face with both hands. “Hi, Baby.” He deepens the kiss; holding onto his young lover by his face, his hair.

But Elio hesitates.

“Were you drinking?”

Oliver only hears Elio say that, because he’s got his eyes closed, just feeling the boy’s lips against his, his weight on him, crotch against his crotch.

“Mmh. So glad you came here,” he says instead.

He kisses Elio again, still holding onto him. He wants him so much. He feels like it was days and days ago since they’ve been together; he wants him, now.

He bucks up a little with his hips, lets his hands slide down over Elio’s sides, down to his thighs.

Elio tenses up.

“Where did you think I would go? We said we’d spend the weekend together.”

He murmurs this, while Oliver still kisses him, on his neck, his chest. He’s greedy, riled up now. Intoxicated with Elio’s scent.

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. Slides his hands back to stroke Elio’s backside. “Running around with boys.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, doesn’t really care, he feels warm, the whisky in his brain telling him he just wants Elio, just his skin, his mouth, his body. He slides his hands back up to Elio’s hips and flips them over, so that Elio is under him on the couch, Oliver’s leg in between his. He grabs Elio’s wrists, holds them up on the cushions above Elio’s head. Goes to kiss his mouth again.

“Oliver.” Elio’s voice is quiet, but firm. He tugs at his wrists. “Let me go.”

“What?” Oliver isn’t sure he’s heard right.

“Let me go.”

He might be more than a little tipsy, but now he knows he’s heard Elio’s request correctly and so Oliver, of course, releases his wrists. Pulls up, letting Elio scoot back to sitting on the couch. His hair is tousled, his cheeks red.

Oliver runs a hand through his own hair, suddenly feeling much more sobered up.

“You know I wouldn’t ... you know I would never hurt you.”

He hopes his words reach Elio, with the intensity he wants them to. He would never force himself on Elio; he would never hurt him. He feels sick at the thought he might have, however unintentionally.

“Let’s go to bed,” Elio just says, simply. He doesn’t state the obvious: Oliver is drunk, he needs to sleep it off.

Oliver nods. And gets up, feeling suddenly very tired - and follows Elio to the bedroom.

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver wakes the next morning, and when he remembers the night before, he groans inwardly. Thankfully he doesn’t get really bad hangovers, and aside from a mild headache and intense thirst, all he has from last night is the worry that Elio’s left. But when he pads to the kitchen he finds the boy there, pouring some milk into his coffee. He’s wearing one of Oliver’s shirts; it’s so oversized on his slender, more minute body, that Oliver’s heart feels a sharp stab of tenderness.

“You should eat something,” Elio says. “I made you some tea.”

Oliver sits quietly at the breakfast table. Nods, in thanks, when Elio passes him a steaming mug.

“Why did you get drunk, last night?”

Elio’s voice is levelled, as he asks the question. Calm.

But he can’t fool Oliver; he knows there’s more behind it. He knows Elio’s annoyed with him.

“I didn’t. I just had a couple of drinks.”

“You could have come out with us if you wanted to get drunk,” Elio continues, relentless.

Oliver rubs a hand over his face, takes a breath.

“Elio.”

“No, Oliver.” Elio’s eyes are wide, bright. “What did you mean with - with what you said last night? Why can’t you - of course I was going to come here! Of course I’m not - hooking up with other guys!”

Oliver sets his jaw. Looks at Elio, as the boy breathes hard after his tirade.

“It was a joke.”

Elio shakes his head.

“No, no it wasn’t. You just can’t trust me. No matter what I say - no matter... no matter the fact that I only want you.”

Oliver clears his throat. Looks at Elio, hard.

“Don’t make this into something it isn’t. You’re just picking a fight.”

“No.” Elio moves away from the table. Picks up the jacket he discarded on the couch the night before. “You’re the one who’s just finding excuses to - to blame me. For when your family convinces you to go back to Jennifer.”

Oliver blinks. Frowns. He looks at Elio, as he walks towards the door. He can’t see his eyes.

“Elio. Don’t go. You got this all wrong.”

Elio stops right by the door; doesn’t turn around. He hesitates for a moment.

“Bye, Oliver.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving Oliver bewildered, his headache pounding into his temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! Sorry for the angst! Love to you xx


	5. Chapter 5

Oliver takes a couple of Advils, and thinks about what to do.

He wants to let Elio calm down, and he wants to get rid of his headache before confronting him, and trying to fix this situation.

So, he waits until the evening, and then he goes up to Elio’s apartment, buzzes at the door.

Matt answers.

“Hey, Oliver,” the boy greets. He’s in sweatpants, and looks tired. “Elio’s not actually in right now. He went to the library a couple of hours ago.”

Oliver nods.

“Ah. Alright, I - just needed to talk to him for a minute.”

“Do you want me to tell him you came by?”

Oliver thinks for a moment; he isn’t sure. But probably best that Elio knows he’s tried to find him.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Oliver is already starting to leave, when Matt speaks again.

“Hey, dude, listen... feel like coming in for a little while?”

Oliver frowns. He looks at Matt; the boy’s eyes seem sincere, as much as Oliver doesn’t know what he may want to tell him.

Of course, though, he know what the subject of their conversation’s going to be; and if nothing else, he’s too curious to decline.

“Okay. Sure.”

Matt smiles, a small smile, and leads him to the kitchen. It’s messy, dirty dishes still to be washed in the sink. An average student lodging situation.

Oliver sighs, and decides to speak first - because his curiosity’s killing him, and starting to turn into worry.

“I’m guessing he told you what happened?” he asks, sitting down on a stool and looking at Matt questioningly. The guy isn’t an idiot - Oliver never goes calling for Elio without Elio knowing about it, and being around for it.

Matt sits across from him on another stool.

“No, actually he didn’t.” He shrugs. “He doesn’t usually tell me what goes on between you two.”

Oliver blinks.

“Ah.”

“But,” Matt continues. “He came home upset today, sat on the couch without speaking for like, half an hour. He seemed pretty mad.”

Oliver bites the inside of his cheek.

“We’ve had - a sort of argument.”

Matt looks down, and nods, minutely. Then he takes a deep breath.

“Look, I hope this doesn’t sound weird, or - I don’t know. Like I’m trying to justify. Because it’s not that.” He breathes again, and then continues. “But you know me and him are over. We are just friends. He wants to be with you.”

Matt is looking straight at him, but his expression is not confrontational. It seems like he just really wants Oliver to understand.

So, Oliver relents.

“I know.”

“I told him earlier - that he needs to talk to you. Because he’s just going to hurt if he doesn’t. And he knows that.”

Oliver blinks. He wants to not believe Matt. He wants to think he’s only doing it to keep Oliver sweet - but he knows, deep down, that it’s not true.

He sighs again, and looks away for a moment. He needs to stop deflecting - he needs to stop feeding his jealousy when his worry, his fear of losing Elio again comes from something else entirely. It’s a fear he is actively encouraging, and he chuckles bitterly inwardly when he thinks of the lecture his therapist would give him if she knew.

“I asked Elio to move in with me.” The words leave his mouth, and he realises he can’t stop them - he really needs to talk to someone. “He said he wants to wait, and I - trust me, I want to respect that. But I can’t stop - worrying. I guess.”

He doesn’t know why he’s talking about this with a kid who’s not even twenty-two years old yet. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting.

But Matt nods.

“Quite a few things have happened over the past few months. I really don’t mean to make you feel bad, but I’ve seen him cry many times. Even when he was with me.” At this, Matt looks down for a moment. Then, he gazes back up at Oliver. “You seemed more - withdrawn, before, so maybe - he finds the change a bit, daunting, now?”

Oliver just blinks. Nods again, speaks in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.”

“Oliver, I...” Matt stops for a moment, and swallows. “My parents don’t know that I’m gay. My family, my friends back in Indiana. Nobody knows. I know how it feels to hide.” He sighs, and then looks up at Oliver again. “But why were you so scared?” He asks, and his tone is gentle. “What - what was your fear?”

Oliver chuckles bitterly. He can tell that Matt knows he wouldn’t care if his father disowned him.

Oliver’s always supported himself, after all, since when he was old enough to be able to do it.

No. His father disowning him is not what scared him.

“When I was in high school, I think I was maybe sixteen or seventeen - I had- I liked someone. Loved, even, if you asked me back then maybe. He was in my math class, he liked reading, he was interesting. You get the gist.”

He clears his throat, and then continues, looking down at where his hands are intertwined on his lap.

“His name was Anthony. We kissed in school - we weren’t being very wise, I guess. So one day a janitor saw us, in the boys’ bathroom, told the headmaster. He called our parents. My father was absolutely furious.”

He has to clear his throat again.

“I don’t care now and I didn’t care back then. But he said he’d move me to another school, ship me off to join the army, the usual. Until one day, maybe a week later, he stopped threatening me - and it got much worse.”

“Anthony, quite literally, disappeared. I heard later that he moved to another school out of state, and that he was sent to several therapists - at some point even to an institute. I haven’t heard anything else about him after that.”

Matt is listening, eyes wide, but sympathetic. Oliver can’t believe he’s opening up to him, to Matt, like this, but nonetheless, he can’t stop.  

“I found out shortly after that my family had a lot to do with that, with convincing his family to send him away - my father wouldn’t have moved me, it was the private high school he wanted me to attend. My father has - connections, power.” He looks away for a moment. “I guess I was lucky they didn’t send me to conversion therapy, too, but that was going to look too bad for our family name if they did.”

Matt sighs too, his eyes sad.

“I’m sorry to hear this.”

“I’m not trying to justify what I did,” Oliver says then, urgently. “I was confused, and dragging my feet, and cowardly for months, and I broke Elio’s heart. Not for the first time. I know that. But I was scared, too. I just thought - it could happen again. With Elio so close now, not away in another continent - what if my father got his claws on him, too.”

There’s a moment, and then Matt speaks, quietly.

“But you pushed past that. You showed him how you really feel.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says.

“So asking him to move in with you was a huge step for you.”

Oliver is glad Matt can understand.

He doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want commiseration.

And just because he’s ready to be brave, to ignore his fear and paranoia, it doesn’t mean Elio needs to jump, and do what Oliver is asking.

But thinking that doesn’t help with the worry that something has changed for Elio - that he’s losing him again.

“I know this will sound cliché, or maybe stupid, I don’t know. But Elio loves you. And you guys just need to talk.”

Oliver takes another, deep breath.

“I know. I guess I -“ he stops for a moment, considers his words. “His world is not as tainted as - mine. Ours.” He nods towards Matt. “I hate to make him think of that. And I guess - it’s easier to talk when you come from a similar background.”

It suddenly makes sense to him while he found it so easy to tell Matt all those things.

But Matt smiles, softly.

“His upbringing might be different from yours, but you know it can only have a positive influence. On both of you, on your relationship.” He nods. “It’s because of where he comes from that Elio will understand.”

Oliver smiles back, his lips tight.

He can’t believe all of this just happened. He never thought he would be able to have such an honest, heartfelt conversation with Matt. He can see why Elio likes him. He has an open heart. He’s a good kid.

The sound of the lock turning in the door startles him, and he looks on, as Matt turns towards the hallway and Elio comes in, taking off his wet jacket in a haste.

“God, it just started raining like crazy,” he grumbles, looking down at his boots, wiping them on the mat by the door. He doesn’t notice Oliver there, until he looks up, and his eyes go wide.

“Oliver.”

Oliver smiles, gently. 

“Hey.”

Elio is just standing there, and his expression has changed to one verging on sadness. Oliver hates that.

“I’m going to my room, need to study some more.” Matt says. “See you soon, Oliver.”

He gets up. Ruffles Elio’s curls gently as he walks past him on his way to his bedroom.

Elio still looks unsure, but he clears his throat, drops his wet jacket on the couch, and walks to the kitchen, puts the kettle on. He’s got his back to Oliver as he does so; and he doesn’t move, when the older man walks up to him, and wraps his arms around his waist from behind, pulls him against himself. Lets their fingers twine on Elio’s tummy.

He nuzzles Elio’s cheek with his nose, and he feels Elio relax back into him, his heart beating strong in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for all your love for this story, and happy new year again! I hope you liked this chapter - Sorry there is little Elio, but it was necessary. 
> 
> Love xx


	6. Chapter 6

Holding Elio in his arms, Oliver listens to him breathe for a moment. He nuzzles his nose under Elio’s jaw, gently.

Elio has his eyes closed; but a moment later, he turns his face towards Oliver and connects their mouths.

Oliver wanted them to talk - had the start of his speech ready in his head - but now, now he can only kiss back. They move slowly, the kiss deep, intense.

Elio feels really, really warm in his arms. Oliver can’t help it, and pushes into the kiss even more, doesn’t care about straining his neck if he gets to taste Elio’s full, sinful lips like that.

When they part, they’re both breathing deep. And Oliver nuzzles his nose into the side of Elio’s throat.

“Bedroom?”

His voice is husky, dark, as he speaks against Elio’s skin. The boy doesn’t even open his eyes - he just nods, whispers, ‘Yeah.’ He turns into Oliver’s arms, and they kiss again - and Elio is on tiptoes, hanging onto Oliver’s neck, his mouth open and letting Oliver guide him, devour him. 

Yes, Oliver wanted to talk - but for now, all he can think and feel is Elio, Elio’s skin, Elio’s breaths, Elio’s smell.

 

 

 

 

 

They kiss again once they are in Elio’s bedroom, slowly and deeply, taking clothes off of each other’s bodies with practiced ease. When they are naked, Elio lies back on the bed, until Oliver crawls over him, lies on him, between his legs. Oliver keeps kissing him, and they don’t say anything as Oliver guides Elio’s arms up to lie on the pillow over his head. He lets him go, but Elio keeps them there.

Oliver wants to growl.

He kisses under Elio’s chin, down to his collarbone, to the middle of his chest. He kisses along his ribs, kisses one nipple, then the other, stealing glances up at his lover - Elio is lying as still as he can, but his eyes are closed, and his neck arches back almost imperceptibly at every touch of Oliver’s lips.

When Oliver reaches his navel, he kisses down the light trail of fuzz leading to Elio’s sex. His brain is in overdrive, his mind thinking one thought, only one.

“Want to ride me, baby?”

His voice is low, so low, so charged with desire.

He looks up and sees Elio open his eyes, his breathing fast, and deep at the same time. It takes him a moment to react, and then the boy nods, and Oliver smiles in praise.

He pulls up, brings himself to sitting against the pillows and waits until Elio straddles him, holding onto his shoulders for support.

For a moment, Oliver is floored, once again, by how beautiful Elio looks. Especially now, especially this slightly older version of Elio, an Elio with the same red lips and thick eyelashes but with more finesse, more experience.

An Elio who now takes one of Oliver’s hands, brings two of his fingers to his mouth to lick, and then behind himself and pushes them until they slide in.

Oliver is floored and paralysed and can’t do anything but watch, as Elio closes his eyes again, lowers himself down carefully on his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” the boy murmurs, out of breath. He opens his eyes; and holds Oliver’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Oliver says. And then he pulls up, wraps an arm around Elio’s small waist to hold him steady while he takes the lead, and gets him ready with his fingers. He kisses his sternum at the same time, thanks all his lucky stars for the beautiful creature in his arms, and curses all his bad decisions and the ugly choices he’s made that have hurt him, that have hurt both of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio moves above him, his thighs tense, curls sweaty, but he doesn’t relent, a little wild thing determined to chase and bring pleasure.

He kisses Oliver, the whole time almost, even though he has to bend down to do so and it must not be comfortable.

Oliver encourages him to let him hear him.

Elio cries against his mouth, moans at every push, every movement, until he comes. He stops for a moment, thighs still either side of Oliver’s legs, trembling, but his arms wrapped around the older man, his head lying on Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver feels him breathe; gives him a few moments, and then gently but firmly rolls them over, resume his thrusts until he finishes inside Elio.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little while later, both curled up on the unmade bed that smells like them, Elio’s back against Oliver’s chest, Oliver speaks.

“We were supposed to talk.”

He strokes Elio’s arm as he says this, just with the tip of his index finger, so very slowly and lightly.

He feels Elio swallow.

“Okay.”

Oliver kisses his shoulder. Takes a breath.

“I’m sorry I made that joke. I’m sorry I made you think I don’t trust you,” he starts.

The words hang between them for a few moments. Then Elio covers Oliver’s hand with his own, plays with his fingers.

“I don’t sleep with anyone else.” His voice is quiet, and he doesn’t turn around. “I wouldn’t let anyone else fuck me.”

The words, coming out of his mouth like that, in the soft, post-orgasmic haze they’ve curled up in, bring a stab to Oliver’s stomach. Just at the thought of Elio with someone that’s not him.

But it’s because of that that they have an even deeper impact - that they are even more needed.

“I know.” Oliver breathes. “And I’m sorry.”

Elio turns around slowly in Oliver’s arms, and Oliver pulls up on his elbow to better see his face.

“And I am sorry that I said that thing about Jennifer,” Elio says then, softly. “I’m sorry that I’m - still hung up about it.”

Oliver nods; and then kisses him, gently.

“No one can convince me to leave you. No matter what they do - this isn’t a temporary situation for me. This is who I want to be, and you are who I want to be with.”

Elio smiles, a tight little smile. Strokes Oliver’s cheek with a hand, looking into his eyes.

“I guess...I guess I’m just scared of losing you.”

Oliver gazes back. Stares, for a moment. When he looks, when he really looks, when his mind isn’t clouded by worry, he can see the same Elio that worshipped him back in Italy, the same eyes that watched him adoringly, as Oliver gave him his own name, courted him with words that meant nothing and everything. 

He swallows.

“Then I guess we are scared of the same thing.”

He watches, still, and Elio returns his gaze. And then Oliver kisses his forehead, pulls him closer against his chest. He feels exhausted.

Elio’s breaths slow down a few moments later. And Oliver listens to them, and they lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day?? WHAAA?? ;) ;) 
> 
> I was inspired, and I guess, this being the first day of the year... start as you mean to go on! 
> 
> January will be tough for me so I hope writing will help. Please leave me a comment - they always make me so happy and I love reading them. 
> 
> Much love x


	7. Chapter 7

_My Dear Oliver,_

 

 

_I am sure you won’t be surprised by this letter._

_I was thinking about you today, like every day, especially lately. And I missed you._

 

_I was thinking about our time together, I was thinking about our wedding day. Remember how happy we were?_

 

_So I thought of writing you this letter. Because I still love you._

 

_I am in Atlanta now, I’m staying with Angelica, whom you have met some years back. I talked to her about you. She couldn’t believe we are no longer together._

_And it took me a while, so I am sorry about that, but I can’t believe we aren’t together, either. We were the perfect couple._

 

_She said we have always been able to reconcile and get past our differences, and that’s true. We never even had real differences, have we? We were able to reunite before, twice. And we could now, too._

 

_We felt like we needed some time apart, you felt like you could no longer be with me, but like I said, we were happy in our marriage, and what we weren’t happy about I am sure we can get past._

 

_Please, my love, will you write me back? Or call me? I will leave Angelica’s phone number below. I will be back in New York next month, and I can meet you. I know I said I didn’t want to see our apartment any more, but I do, if you are with me._

 

_I miss you._

 

_With love,_

_Jennifer_

 

 

 

 

 

Holding the letter in his hands, Oliver frowns.

He wants to be surprised by this, but he doesn’t think he really is. Yes, he thought he and Jennifer were clear, when they parted ways. She left the apartment saying that she couldn’t take being rejected once again, and that if he really wanted a divorce, then she was more than happy to get rid of him.

But they’d separated and gotten back together before - and Jennifer, it seems, thinks this time things were going to be the same.

That was when Oliver was lost. Thinking that being with her was something he needed to do, something for the good of himself and everyone else in his life. Back when Oliver, for a moment or two, even thought he would be fine living that way forever.

But, surprise surprise, Elio has opened his eyes again just like he did that summer in Italy. Things are different now.

Oliver folds the letter back up, and is about to throw it in the garbage when Elio appears at the door. Just woken up, curls all over the place. He’s rubbing sleep from one eye with his hand, and pads slowly towards the kitchen and Oliver, barefoot.

“What’re you reading?”

Oliver knows he must have looked too pensive for Elio not to wonder.

He looks at the boy’s face, the thick eyelashes still batting sleep away make him look even younger and more innocent than usual. Oliver bites the inside of his cheek, debating whether to tell him or not. He doesn’t want to risk upsetting him; but he chooses to speak.

“Jennifer sent me a letter,” he starts, watching Elio’s face carefully.

The boy stops, looks at him.

“A letter?”

“Yeah,” Oliver nods. “Just a lot of musings about how she thinks we should get back together,” he says with a shrug.

Elio stands still, looks confused.

“I just wanted to tell you, so you know, but you should also know that I am throwing that letter away right now.”

“Did she ask you to meet?” Elio is still perturbed.

“Yeah, she did. Not going to happen, obviously.”

Elio stares, biting his lower lip. He looks fully awake now, and Oliver beckons him over to him with a hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells Elio, once the boy walks into his arms, tentative. Oliver massages his side with the thumb of his right hand.

“Yeah,” Elio nods after a few seconds. “I suppose she doesn’t know, so she still thinks you’re available.”

Oliver nods against Elio’s neck, and then murmurs. “She’s sorely mistaken.”

He holds his young lover like that until he feels him relax a little. Then, he kisses him. Slow, slow, and then deeper and more intensely.

“I have to be at school in one hour,” Elio mumbles after, looking up at Oliver. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Go get ready,” Oliver kisses his nose. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

Once Elio is showered and dressed, he drinks his espresso and rushes out of the apartment with a peck to Oliver’s lips. He seems fine, and Oliver hopes he really is. 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not the only letter Oliver receives.

A week later, another one arrives. In that, Jennifer asks him if he received her first letter; bemoans not being able to talk to him, Oliver not getting in touch with her. Says she’s trying again, just in case.

And then, more of the same.

Oliver bins that letter, too.

 

 

 

 

 

Another week goes by, and it’s a Saturday, and like they often do, Oliver and Elio are on the couch in Oliver’s apartment. Elio on Oliver, straddling him, thighs wide either side of Oliver’s legs in that way that drives Oliver wild.

Oliver is holding Elio’s face in his palms and kissing him, Elio grinding gently against him. It’s bliss; and Oliver growls softly into Elio’s mouth. A warning, before Oliver slides his hands up under Elio’s shirt, over his nipples, down to his abdomen, slowly.

“Ow, cold fingers,” Elio cries with a little jump, chuckles, but doesn’t move to escape Oliver’s exploring hands.

Oliver pinches his nipples; Elio opens his mouth wider against Oliver’s, moans for him, helpless already.

And it’s then that someone buzzes at the door.

“Fuck’,” Oliver curses, as they separate. He feels Elio breathe.

“Just, just ignore it,” the older man orders, without moving his hands from Elio’s body.

Elio nods. Resumes their kissing.

“Oliver? It’s me, your sister, remember? I know you’re in there - the guy downstairs told me you got back an hour ago!”

Oliver, then, breaks the kiss.

“Really have to tell Nigel he needs to mind his own business,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry, baby. I need to go and answer, or she won’t leave.”

Elio smiles, slides off of Oliver, curling up on the couch, hands going to try and fix his dishevelled hair.

Oliver stands, clears his throat - readjust his jeans, thinking again, for fuck’s sake.

“Hi,” he greets when he opens the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Well hi little brother,” Abigail smiles, and hugs him, even though Oliver’s still holding the door with one hand and doesn’t return the embrace. “Can I come in?”

Oliver takes a breath, and then nods.

“Hey, Elio!” Abigail greets him, smiling wide. “Ah,” she says, looking from one to the other in realization. “Sorry for the interruption.”

Elio runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head, shyly.

“It’s fine, just - why are you here?”

Oliver cuts to the chase.

“Yeah, I’ll be on my way in a moment. I just wanted to - give you something.”

Oliver stares at her. Raised his eyebrows, nods. “Okay?”

Abigail looks from him to Elio, then back to him.

“It’s a - letter,” she says, lowers her voice as if she’s telling him something secret.

Oliver sighs.

“Ah.”

“But maybe we can talk in the kitchen? I mean, you know,” Abigail is widening her eyes at him, and Oliver breathes deep once again.

“No, it’s fine. This is not the first letter Jennifer sends me.” Abigail doesn’t react; obviously, she knows.

“I’m just wondering why this time she’s decided she needed to hire you as her carrier pigeon.”

“I’m just doing her a favor, Oliver,” Abigail says. “She said she thought you hadn’t received her other letters.”

“Well, I did.” Oliver folds his arms in front of his chest. “And there is a reason why she hasn’t heard back.”

Abigail looks at him, then at Elio, once again. It’s obvious she wants to say more, but she nods, instead. She leaves the letter on the coffee table.

“Alright, well. I have a dinner and I’m going to be late. I just wanted to - give you this, as she asked. No shooting the messenger.”

Oliver sighs; and then nods.

He’s not angry at her; he’s just annoyed at the letters. At Jennifer not understanding.

Abigail smiles, quickly.

“I’m going to go. Bye, Elio,” she says, looking towards the boy. And then she’s gone.

When Oliver’s closed the door behind her, he turns around, and looks at Elio.

“Sorry about that,” Oliver shrugs. Elio smiles briefly, tentatively.

The white envelope with Oliver’s name on it sits guiltily on the table.

__

 


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver clears his throat. In front of him, Elio pulls his knees up to his chest, scratches the back of his neck like he always does when he’s unsure.

In the end, it’s Elio who speaks first.

“Are you not going to read it?”, he asks, his eyes wide, waiting.

Oliver blinks, and looks back to the envelope. He was so focussed on Elio’s reaction that he almost forgot there’s a letter in there.

He wants to say that he really doesn’t care about reading it, that his plan is to just throw it away, tear it up maybe.

But who knows, maybe, with this message, she’s telling him that she gets it, that writing to him was a mistake and that she accepts that they’re over. Maybe.

He doesn’t believe his own thoughts. But still, he reaches out, tears the envelope open. Scans the piece of paper quickly.

“She’s going to be in New York - in two days now, based on when she sent this. She said she will come see me if I agree to meet her.”

Elio looks at him, pulling his knees tighter against himself - but doesn’t say anything.

Oliver sighs. He slowly walks over, sits next to him.

“I know why she’s doing this,” he starts. He feels so tired, already. But he knows that he has some responsibility in this. His past mistakes have an echo that still makes itself heard today.

Elio doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, and so Oliver continues.

“Before, when we got together the first time. We dated for a few months, then separated. I broke it off. But then, I don’t know what happened, she got in touch with me again. I called her back. We got back together.” He sighs. “And then again, later on, we broke up, I think she was tired of waiting for me to be... to be serious about it. I guess she must have changed her mind though, because a couple of months later she sent me a letter. Much like one of these. And I - replied. Rekindled it.”

What he doesn’t say, is that his parents had been griping about his beautiful girlfriend Jennifer, about the huge mistake he did by leaving her - about how perfect she would be as his wife.

Yes, they pressured him. But it was still his choice to go back.

Oliver sighs. Checks Elio’s eyes for a moment. The boy is still looking at him, curled up tight on the couch. But he seems fine, for now. 

“When I told her I’d be going to Italy for two months, she was furious. Crying. She was the one who ended it that time. I was - I was fine with it.”

Elio nods then, minutely.

“And then,” Oliver starts.

“And then you got back together when you left Italy. Yeah.” Elio’s voice is quiet, but firm. He doesn’t want to talk about that time, obviously - and Oliver just nods.

“So, that’s why she thinks she can try again.”

Oliver pauses, lets the words weigh in between them. The explanation.

Elio looks at him, his eyes firm.

“But it won’t work, this time. Right.”

There’s such vulnerability in those words, in the open, almost wounded expression in Elio’s eyes. Oliver hopes it’s just a remnant of insecurity from before, from when things weren’t out in the open between them.

“Of course,” he murmurs, and scoots a little closer, so he can reach out, and stroke Elio’s beautiful, full lower lip with his thumb. “Of course it won’t work.”

Elio looks at him without saying anything for a moment, and Oliver can’t help it, reaches out and kisses his lips. Just briefly, gently.

“What do you think you will do?” Elio asks quietly after.

Oliver sighs. Looks at the piece of paper on the table.

“I’ll have to think about it. I really wish - I wish she’d just understand.”

He knows it’s a cowardly thing to say, because what he means is, I wish I didn’t have to do anything about it. I wish I didn’t have to make her understand.

Because, it’s probably not that she doesn’t want to; but her way of thinking, the life she’s used to, only admit one view of the world. Of relationships. Of love.

He knows that, if he has to make her understand, it will be a battle. And he knows that he will have to put a lot on the line.

When he looks back at Elio, the boy nods again, smiles a little, and then scoots closer to Oliver. He places his head gently on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Let’s watch something on TV?” He says, his voice soft. “You know I like silly shows.”

Oliver chuckles, and reaches out to grab the remote. He wraps the other arm around Elio, hugs him closer to himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A couple of days later, when Elio goes to Oliver’s apartment to see him before leaving for class - after staying up almost all night finishing a paper on Chopin - Oliver has an announcement to make.

“I’ve got in touch with Jennifer yesterday and told her I need to speak to her. She’s on her way here in about thirty minutes,” he says, while he hugs Elio to himself. He lets him go, and kisses his forehead. “I need this to end. I’m going to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Elio looks up, eyes wide.

“I have already told her I don’t feel the same way as she does. I told her I don’t want to be with her - it didn’t work. I’m going to tell her I have someone. I’m going to tell her about us.”

Elio’s eyes widen even more.

“Oliver, wait - are you sure?”

The older man nods, firmly.

“Very sure.”

“But - your father, your family. She would - she’s going to tell...”

“I don’t care. My father isn’t talking to me, and I’m fine with it - so what would change?” He stops, smiles softly, to try and calm the troubled expression on Elio’s face. “Don’t worry. I want to do this.”

Elio stares. For a few seconds longer, as if he wants to read Oliver’s eyes a little deeper, and be certain that he’s thought about this enough.

But then, he smiles a little, and walks back towards Oliver, into his arms. Squeezes himself tight against him.

“I have to go to class,” Elio mumbles against the warm cotton of Oliver’s shirt covering his shoulder. “Sorry.”

Oliver nuzzles his temple. “It’s okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

He walks Elio out, and when they’re outside, just by the door to Oliver’s apartment, he draws him back to him again, kisses him.

Elio is pliant and trusting, and Oliver relishes it. He deepens the kiss a little more, wishing he could pull Elio back inside, forget about class and Jennifer and everything else in the outside world.

Elio rises on tiptoes, hangs from his neck with his arms - moans very quietly in his throat.

And that’s when they hear her voice.

“Oliver?”

They break the kiss, and turn towards the woman in the middle of the hallway as she stands there in her blue dress and stares, her face a mask of shock.

Oliver looks back to Elio, whispers.

“Looks like telling her will be much easier than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger!! Haha, sorry :)
> 
> Please keep commenting on this story! And maybe I’ll post the next one really soon... (hopefully :) ) 
> 
> Love xx


	9. Chapter 9

Jennifer is staring, hard, at both Oliver and Elio.

Oliver watches as Elio adjusts the strap of his schoolbag, awkwardly, over his shoulder - he nods towards the boy.

“Go. Don’t be late to class.”

Elio chances a glance at Jennifer out of the corner of his eye, and then nods.

“I’ll - see you tonight.”

There’s a moment of silence, a moment in which Jennifer’s eyes are still wide and she’s still staring, the same shock on her face.

Then, as Elio disappears down the corridor, she speaks again.

“What the hell is this, Oliver?”

Her voice is raised; she never swears, usually.

“You’re early,” Oliver says, turning fully towards her and squaring his shoulders.

“Yes. For once the damn traffic in New York lets up a moment, so I get to catch you doing - this!” Jennifer yells, her hand pointing angrily towards Oliver.

There’s no one around, but Oliver still keeps his eye out, lowers his voice, hoping Jennifer will get the hint and do the same.

“You didn’t ‘catch’ me doing anything, Jen.” He nods towards his apartment. “If you want to talk, let’s go inside.”

Jennifer is way too concerned about appearances to want to have this showdown out here, Oliver knows. He isn’t surprised when she follows him inside.

“You - you moved apartments. I had to ask Nigel about you. You kept that a secret, and now this. This!” Jennifer raises her voice again as soon as the door is closed behind them.

“It’s been over six months. I didn’t want to live in that apartment anymore. And anyway, where I live is no longer your business.”

“Oh, because now, what, you - you live with - that boy? Huh? Have you gone completely insane?”

Jennifer’s eyes are already bright, but in that way she has where they show no pain or suffering - just anger; resentment.

“Who I live with is not your business, either,” Oliver insists.

“I can’t believe this.” Jennifer takes a step back. “What the hell. What does this mean? Why did you even ask to meet me?”

“Because I wanted to tell you exactly this,” Oliver says, and hopes the firm tone of his voice delivers the message clearly. “Because you seemed to think we still had a chance and I needed to tell you that it’s not true. I’m in love with someone else. I have someone else. We are over, Jen.”

“You - you have - that boy?? You’re with that kid? God, Oliver,” Jennifer runs a hand through her hair. “You - you’re confused. I don’t know what the hell is going on but, this is not you. This is not you.”

“No, no, Jen. This is exactly me. This is exactly who I want to be.”

Jennifer bites her lip, swallows.

“Who? A - gay? A homosexual?” Her voice almost screeches the words out. “You - you married me, we - we wanted to have children! What happened to that?”

Oliver sighs, but still keeps his eyes firmly into hers.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t - who I wanted to be. That wasn’t the real me, Jennifer. It never was.”

Jennifer is quiet for a moment. Her eyes are even brighter, and her chest moves fast as if she’s going to start crying in a moment. She’s looking at Oliver as if he’s just grown three heads, as if she can’t recognise the person she sees.

“Do you - do you fuck that boy? Huh? Is this why we weren’t having sex, then? How long has this been going on for??”

Oliver breathes deeply. He knows it makes no sense to lie to her. Not at this point.

“It started in Italy,” he says. Watches Jennifer’s face carefully as she processes the words. And like he expected, she looks crushed, and furious.

“He’s the one I love,” Oliver says, softer, but final. “I’m sorry.”

She stares at him. Still almost speechless.

When she speaks again, after a few moments, her voice is low. Dangerous.

“What would your family think? What would your father say, Oliver?”

Oliver grits his teeth.

He knew Jennifer would bring this up.She knows Oliver’s family really well. She knows this is a sore spot.

But Oliver feels strength, in his very bones,as he answers her.

“What my family thinks at this point doesn’t concern you. It’s something I have to deal with. Right now, what you need to understand is that - this, us, is over. I already told you, I’m sorry, but trust me, this is for the best.” He pauses for a moment. “I always saw you as a clever woman so, please, understand this is how it is.”

He watches her face, hoping against all hope that she does understand.

She looks upset, but still angry; Oliver feared she might cry, but she doesn’t. She just looks at him, swallows, for a few long moments.

She might be clever, but she definitely needs to be exposed to more realities than her own, pre-constructed one.

Just when he thinks she might start another tirade, she sets her jaw. Grips her handbag tighter to her body; and then walks towards the door, slamming it behind her - evidently, as hard as she can.

Oliver feels exhausted.

He sits on the couch, runs a hand through his hair, and looks to the floor, breathing.He can still hear the noise of her heels outside the apartment as she walks to the elevator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oliver’s been trying to write for a while, and has just turned on the TV in search of some distracting background noise at least, when he hears the door open, and sees Elio come in. Schoolbag on his shoulder, curls tousled by the wind blowing outside today.

He’s such a welcome sight, and Oliver smiles.

Elio smiles, too, when he turns towards him and walks slowly to the couch.He stops in front of Oliver, puts his bag on the floor.

“How - How did it go?” he asks tentatively.

“As well as you can imagine,” Oliver sighs. “But I told her. She struggled to understand, of course - but I think she got the message. She knows I’m with you. As much as that is still incomprehensible to her.”

He smiles again, to show Elio he’s okay - and he really is. It’s a weight off his shoulders.

Elio smiles, corners of his mouth turned up gently.

“And you’re alright?”

Oliver smiles back.

“Yeah. I really am.”

He watches as the boy nods, then looks towards the TV, then to the clock on the wall.

“Well,” he starts. Voice low. “I - I can’t stay. I have that test tomorrow and I really need to study all night if I want to pass.”

He walks slowly closer to Oliver, kneels in front of him, between his legs.

“But I think - I think you deserve something, after the day you’ve had.”

It’s kind of tongue in cheek and Oliver watches him, interestedly, as Elio crawls further between the V of Oliver’s legs. His hands stroke up Oliver’s jeans-clad inner thighs, and nimble fingers reach his button and zipper, unfasten both.

Before Oliver’s even connected his brain, his body’s already decided for him, and scooted a bit lower on the couch, his legs opening further, to give Elio more space to unlatch his jeans, reach into his boxers.

And he can still only watch, as Elio leans over, eyes on Oliver’s, and kisses his sex. It stiffens up, so quickly, just at the mere contact of those sinful lips.

Oliver doesn’t say anything but his brain goes from tired to into overdrive in a matter of seconds.He’s overwhelmed by instinct, as he watches Elio lick him from base to tip, slowly, holding him in a fist for ease.

Oliver forces himself to keep his own hands on the couch, where they lie in a fist alongside his legs.

It’s quiet, as Elio finally takes him into his mouth. Oliver can hear his breathing; following his movements, as he pulls back, and then pushes forward again, slow, each time taking more and more of Oliver inside.

“Look at me,” is the only thing Oliver manages to growl, quietly. Elio knows how Oliver likes it.

The boy obeys and his wide, green eyes with their black thick curtain of lashes look up at Oliver’s face while he speeds up his movements, sucks harder.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, but Oliver could come right here and now.

He can’t help it and so he reaches out a hand, cups Elio’s right cheek - the boy doesn’t miss a beat, keeps going - and then slides it down, wraps it around the side of his throat - can swear he can feel himself moving in there, filling him.

The pleasure is so intense and has reached his brain now, fully, not just his loins, and Oliver runs his hand back up into Elio’s curls, grabs a fistful of them and pulls up, pulls Elio closer until he feels he could reach the very back of his throat with one, tiny thrust.

Elio doesn’t relent. Like a trooper, he pushes through, moans and sucks and licks - accepts Oliver’s hips bucking up in him, deeper still, until he comes.

Elio swallows it all.

Oliver is practically dizzy by the end and has to lie back, eyes closed, for a few long moments, trying to catch his breath.

He almost doesn’t notice when Elio tucks him back into his jeans; he opens one eye, just in time to see the boy wiping the corner of his lips with a thumb, putting the finger into his mouth to catch everything.

If Oliver died today, right now, he’d definitely die happy.

“Okay, well, I have to go,” Elio says, as he pulls up to standing, tries to fix his hair, endearingly so. He’s flushed and kinda trembling. He’s beautiful.

“I’m sorry, I have this test tomorrow and- it’s like, really tough.”

Oliver sits up, takes his hand to keep him there.

“What about you, though?”

Elio bites his lip.

“No, no, I’m okay,” he says. Smiles. “This was for you.”

Oliver looks up, into him, into his eyes. At his flushed cheeks, his reddened lips.

He pulls Elio towards himself, holds his face in his hands, and kisses him, hums in praise at tasting himself in his mouth.

He smiles on his lips.

“Go, go. I love you.”

As he watches Elio go, he smiles to himself and thinks that, really, he’s never loved him more.


	10. Chapter 10

“Oliver! You in?” Elio calls, as he closes the door to Oliver’s apartment behind him.

Oliver appears from the bathroom, chest bare, a towel around his neck and hair still damp.

“Someone’s happy?” he teases, smiles at Elio. He wasn’t expecting him back from school so early, but he’s not complaining, at all.

Elio walks over, lifts up on tiptoes to offer his mouth for Oliver to kiss.

“Mmh. I like what I’m seeing,” he hums huskily, his hand sliding up Oliver’s naked chest. His fingers tangle in the coarse hair there.

Oliver pulls back, strokes Elio’s lower lip with his thumb as he cups the boy’s face in his large hand. And then kisses him briefly again.

“Can we go out, to dinner? My treat?” Elio asks, so excited he’s almost bouncing on his feet.

“Sure, but you know how I feel about you paying,” Oliver comments, eyes amused even though he’s trying to be wise.

He always insists on paying when they go out - because Elio’s on a student allowance, while Oliver’s got his own money that he can spend.

“Just this time. It’s on me. Come on, get dressed.” Elio ignores his protests, kisses him once again on the cheek. He pulls back when Oliver tries to chase his mouth again.

“Alright, alright.” Oliver relents. “Just let me dry my hair and put something on. Where are we going?”

Elio lets him go, plops himself down on the couch while he waits for him, turns on the TV on a random channel.

“I was thinking that new Chinese downtown that we saw on the paper? It’s supposed to be amazing,” he calls out.

In the bedroom, Oliver opens his wardrobe in search of clothes.

“Okay. But promise you’ll tell me what the occasion is?” he says, a smile in his voice.

“Fine. Maybe,” Elio, finally, relents. “Maybe I’ll tell you. If you hurry up!”

Oliver is picking out what to wear, when the phone rings.

“Oliver! Phone!”

He chuckles at Elio’s voice, and when he sees the boy already distracted, his eyes trained on a show on the TV.

Oliver picks up.

“Hello?”

“Oliver, it’s me.”

Abigail.

“Hey, Abi, listen - I don’t have much time right now-“

“No, Oliver, you need to listen,” she interrupts him. She sounds unsettled, and so Oliver sighs.

“What?”

“Mother just called me. She said she and father met with Jennifer.”

“Christ. Can’t they let it go.” Oliver mumbles, angrily.

“You know how they are.” Abigail’s voice is quiet.

Oliver already knows where this is going, the moment Abigail mentioned his ex wife.

He closes his eyes. Gathers all his patience.

“She was very upset on the phone, Oliver,” Abigail says.

“What did Jennifer tell them?”

Abigail’s voice is agitated as well.

“Mother said she wouldn’t say much, but when they asked her if she saw you, she said she did, but you are now with someone else.”

“So,” Oliver nods, to himself, as if he’s just proved something he was expecting all along. “I’m guessing she told them who that person is?”

“I don’t think she did. Or mother would have definitely told me. But, Oliver...She asked me. About you. About what you’re doing, who is this person you’re seeing. I said I didn’t know.” Abigail sighs. “You know how they are,” she repeats.

Oliver is silent for a moment. He looks towards Elio, who’s looking back, with the worried eyes of someone who wants to know what’s going on.

“I know,” he says to Abigail, finally. “They’ll draw their conclusions. So be it.”

 

 

 

 

 

When the call ends, Elio turns off the TV, looks at him with worried eyes.

“Your parents?”

Oliver takes a breath, a full one, to try and swallow down his irritation.

“My mother called Abigail, told her she and my father met with Jennifer.”

Elio frowns, swallows.

“Did she tell them?

He looks lost. Oliver feels a squeeze in his chest at the thought that Elio worries for him so much.

“As far as I know, no. She didn’t.” Oliver watches, as Elio pulls his legs up against his chest, makes himself small - but his eyes are surprised. To be completely honest, Oliver is surprised, too. “She just told them I’m - seeing someone else.”

“So -so it’s fine?”

Oliver sets his jaw, as he thinks about what to say. He leans back against the counter.

“They’ll think what they want to think. Which, in this case, is not completely wrong. Not wrong at all, in fact.”

Elio frowns deeper, confused.

“They’ll think you’re with a man?”

“I’m sure my divorce from Jennifer, with no apparent explanation... and the fact that we’re not getting back together this time - the fact that I’m with someone else and haven’t told them - can only mean one thing to them.”

His voice is somber, but, as Oliver takes a breath, looks at his young lover, curled up on the couch, he realizes all that his parents can do right now is irritate him. Upset him with their inability to stay out of his life when they obviously don’t appreciate his choices - but nothing else. They don’t scare him. Not anymore.

Elio frowns deeper, and is quiet for a few moments. He’s clearly still struggling to understand.

“Elio, I... there is something I haven’t told you. Because I wanted to - shield you. From all of this, I guess.” And when Elio widens his eyes, looks at him with his eyebrows knitted together in reproach, Oliver continues, “Yes, yes, I know. Which is why I’m going to tell you.”

Elio clears his throat. “Okay.”

“Do you still want to make our dinner? We can talk, when we’re there?”

He looks at the boy, and Elio hesitates a moment, observing him as if he’s trying to read his eyes. And then he nods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over dinner, Oliver tells him about Anthony. About the first boy he kissed, about the innocence he had back then and about how he didn’t realize that same innocence was going to cause him a lot of trouble.

About finding out that Anthony was no longer to be a part of his life - about finding out that people could do something like that. That his parents could.

“They’ve always worried about me and mylife choices, as they call them. Since then,” Oliver explains. “Me getting married was a reassurance to them, a sort of cover up, and me getting divorced, well...it’s like I opened that whole can of worms right in front of their eyes.” He sighs.

Elio is looking at him, frown still in place. He’s biting his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth, and Oliver reaches out to stroke it with his index finger, an attempt to ease the pressure.

“They think you haven’t - changed,” the boy concludes, as if explaining it to himself. “That’s why you’re saying they’ll think you’re with a man? Because of what happened with Anthony, and because of - me? In Italy?”

Oliver nods.

“I must be the worst thorn in the side for them.”

There’s a self-deprecating tone in his voice, and Oliver makes an attempt at a side smile, because Elio looks saddened and he wants to show him that really, he’s okay.

And he is. It’s the truth.

After all these years, all the changes in his life recently have destroyed him, and put him back together, ten times stronger. So much so, that if his family want to know the truth - think they know the truth - then who is Oliver to deny them?

Who is Oliver to deny himself this chance at freedom?

“I’m sorry I ruined our nice dinner,” Oliver can only say. He needed to tell Elio sooner or later; it might as well be tonight.

He reaches out under the table, and takes Elio’s hand in his.

“No, you haven’t.” Elio shakes his head.

He still looks pensive, and Oliver suddenly remembers.

“What was the occasion for tonight, then?” He asks softly, his thumb caressing Elio’s hand under the table. “You said you would tell me.”

Elio shakes his head again, and blinks, as if he’s just come back to reality.

“Oh. No, it was nothing. It’s - it’s fine.”

“Did something happen at school? Something you’d like to celebrate?” Oliver tries.

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s - it was nothing. I was just joking.”

He looks down, and then up again, smiles at Oliver, a little unsure, tentative. It doesn’t seem like he’s up to be pushed further.

And so Oliver just nods, looks quickly around the room, and then brings Elio’s hand up from under the table, and kisses it gently, smiling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have put down the number of chapters as 15 for the moment as we are nearing the end of the story. I’ll adjust it as I go I think. 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you liked this chapter, and please let me know what you think!!! Xx


	11. Chapter 11

When Elio opens the door for Oliver, the boy’s face is flushed, as if he’s in a rush.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Just got back from school,” Elio says, stepping aside to let Oliver in. “I’ll just go - freshen up. Be back in five.”

Oliver closes the door, chuckles softly at Elio’s back as the boy disappears into the bathroom.

His obsession with looking perfect for Oliver is endearing; Oliver has told him so many times that he always looks perfect, to him, no matter how his hair looks, or if he’s a little sweaty, or dishevelled. He told him so many times, in a husky voice, in bed, holding him in his arms, that his mouth is too beautiful and soft for Oliver not to kiss, no matter where it’s just been, no matter what it tastes like. He always tastes good, to Oliver. Everywhere.

But Elio aways makes an effort for him and Oliver finds it endearing, flattering. And so he sits at the breakfast table, turns on the tv while he waits for his lover to be ready.

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, I’m done,” Elio announces, rushing into the kitchen, holding a small overnight bag. “Got some stuff for Monday. So I don’t have to come back at all.”

Oliver smiles, and wraps his arm around Elio’s slim waist, draws him close and looks up at him from where he is sitting on one of the stalls.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments, enjoying the pleased way Elio smiles at that. “You didn’t have to rush, goose. There’s no hurry.” Elio blinks, and Oliver smiles again. “Give me a kiss,” he asks.

Elio obliges, leaning down to connect their mouths. They kiss slow, and languid, Oliver still holding him with an arm around his waist, and Elio cupping his hands around Oliver’s jaws. Oliver hasn’t shaved for a few days, and he knows the stubble will cause some very pretty colour to bloom on Elio’s skin. He feels himself starting to get hard already, just at the thought.

“I just - like the idea of you coming to pick me up just to take me to your apartment for the weekend,” Elio admits quietly, with a shy smile.

Oliver kisses his chest, over his shirt. “Come on, then. Let’s go,” he prompts. He just wants to have Elio for himself, and he can’t wait any longer.

 

 

 

 

 

They just about manage to eat some take out and drink some wine, until they are nice and warmed up with the alcohol, and then start kissing almost straightaway. It’s making out, really, like teenagers, and Oliver listens to Elio’s soft moans into his mouth, feeling himself getting more and more turned on.

He needs to have Elio naked and so he starts taking his clothes off, watching as Elio’s curls become all messy in the process, observing his chest pump air as if he’s drowning, the boy already overwhelmed with desire.

Once he’s nude Oliver kisses his mouth, his chin, his throat. His pec and under his armpit, nuzzling into the fine hair there, scolding Elio gently when he squirms, ticklish.

“Stay still,” Oliver orders, and resumes his journey of kisses, down to Elio’s nipples, his sternum, his lovely little belly. He dips his tongue into his navel, and Elio whines, low in his mouth, a little protest that he wants more.

Oliver keeps kissing and reaches the dips of Elio’s hips. His abdomen, and then he lifts one of his legs to kiss under his thigh, in between them.

“Oliver,” Elio mumbles, teeth set. When Oliver looks up, Elio’s hands are clawing at the bed sheet, probably his last attempt to remain present and not get swept away in sensation.

“Remember in Bergamo,” Oliver murmurs, really low in his throat. Kisses Elio’s skin. “Remember when we went back to the hotel. Remember how I made you come just with my mouth...”

“Oliver,” Elio moans. He lifts his head, to look down at Oliver, who’s knelt between his legs.

“Do you remember, baby?” Oliver growls huskily.“Shall we try again?” He kisses Elio’s entrance.

“Fuck, Oliver,” Elio says. His chest is still moving erratically, his body tense. “I don’t think I can...”

“Do you remember?” Oliver insists. “Did it feel good? Tell me how good it felt.”

Elio’s head falls back down, and he closes his eyes, lets out a breath. Oliver kisses the inside of his delicate thigh, and waits.

“It felt so good. So good,” Elio says softly a few seconds later. “But I can’t - I want, now...”

“You can,” Oliver says. He holds each of Elio’s thin thighs, keeps them apart. He starts kissing him; covering the whole area with kisses, and soft touches of his tongue. He listens for Elio’s moans, waits until they follow his breath, until Elio has given in. And then he pushes his tongue inside, just the tip at first, then, deep, as far as it can go.

Elio’s hips lift up from the mattress, and hecries out.

“Hey hey. Let me in, baby,” Oliver part reprimands, part encourages. He holds his thighs more firmly.

“Oliver,” Elio chants again, head back, eyes shut and a frown between his eyebrows.

“Relax and let me in,” Oliver tells him again, softly. He french kisses him right there, in between his legs, pulls him back against his face so his tongue can reach deeper. He hums low in his throat, making waves that reverberate inside Elio’s body, right into his abdomen.

“Fuck, Oliver.”

Elio’s chest is moving fast now and he moans at every breath. His pelvis is giving small, tiny kicks upwards at every touch of Oliver’s tongue. And, for his part, Oliver is hard, so hard inside his lounging pants, but so committed to seeing Elio unravel, just like this.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he can feel Elio’s muscles get tense, his whole body humming with the low frequency of his pleasure, about to spill like an explosion. And so Oliver redoubles his efforts, pulls him harder against himself and growls from his throat. If his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he’d spur Elio on.

But it’s only a few more moments; and then Elio moans out loud, his back arches; he comes, helpless and intensely, his eyes still closed, his fists closed tightly around the bedsheets.

Oliver waits, the time of a few heartbeats. And then, he lifts himself up, pulls himself over Elio, hovering over him. Looks down into Elio’s eyes which are almost closed, thin slivers, while he breathes hard.

“Remember what I told you, that night?” Oliver says, on Elio’s mouth. The boy just moans, so quietly it’s almost not even a sound, still in the throes of his orgasm.

“I told you I would never forget you. Ever.” Oliver kisses his lips. “And I didn’t. I never did.”

He waits, for Elio to try and open his eyes a little more. Elio’s body is still trembling.

Oliver frees himself from his pants, reaches his hands back, takes hold of Elio’s thighs and wraps them around his waist. He slicks himself up quickly; and then, he guides himself inside Elio.

He pushes past the initial resistance, and then he slides in, with ease. He just about fits, inside Elio. Elio’s hot inside, and tight, and feels like heaven. He arches back, again, when Oliver is fully inside him.

The boy’s hands fly to Oliver’s cheeks, and he guides the older man down to him for a deep kiss. And Oliver lets him; if he starts fucking him, just now, he’ll come way too soon. He wants to last.

He only starts to thrust a few breaths later, palms planted on the mattress either side of Elio’s head, Elio holding onto him for dear life while Oliver’s body jolts him back every time he pushes in.

The boy starts arching back soon after, so oversensitive his whole body must feel like it’s on fire.

And, as much as Oliver wanted to last; he thinks this is enough. He thinks he wants his prize, now.

He lets go, and comes, with a groan, deep inside Elio.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday is spent sleeping in, getting breakfast at the cafe around the corner, and then with a long walk at the park, and more food at their favourite Chinese place.

Sunday goes fast; and soon, it’s Monday morning.

Elio gets ready for school, and leaves, but not before kissing Oliver, long and slow, his schoolbag in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

Oliver has a meeting scheduled with his editor shortly after. As he’s leaving the building, he runs into Ash.

“Oh, hi, friend,” the boy stammers in surprise. “Good weekend?”

Oliver smiles. “Yeah, very good. Thanks.”

Ash nods, makes to go inside. But stops a moment later.

“Oh, wait, before I forget,” he says. “Have you and Elio decided when he’s gonna move in with you yet? Just to know. Just because, ya know, we need to find someone else. Put up an ad, and everything.”

Oliver frowns, hesitates. “No- no, we haven’t decided. Didn’t know we were going to.”

“Oh. Elio said he would tell you.” Ash’s eyes are wide. “Oh, well, then... I - I better go. See ya around.”

And the boy goes to the elevator, leaving Oliver stood there, frown still in place. Trying to make sense of what Ash just said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, don’t be shy... leave me a comment!! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking about?” Elio asks.

He’s been jumping from one channel to the other on the tv, while Oliver, in the kitchen, makes coffee for the both of them.

“Hmmm?” Oliver frowns. Takes his eyes off of the coffee pot to turn towards Elio.

“You’ve been quiet for the past two hours,” Elio explains. He looks worried.

Oliver turns back around to remove the pot from the stove, pours coffee into two mugs, carries both to the couch to hand one to the boy. The sugar sits on the coffee table, but Oliver doesn’t use it.

“Nothing in particular,” he replies.

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t really feel like explaining - not right now.

Since meeting Ash, and the interesting little chat he had with him, Oliver’s been thinking about how to discuss the matter with Elio. Elio had finally decided he wanted to move in with Oliver, and was about to tell him, until he chose not to. Oliver really wants to know what changed his mind - but doesn’t know how to ask.

He briefly debates, in his mind, whether to not say anything at all. Leave it, for it to evolve as it might.

But he’s been thinking about it for the past couple of days. He’s been thinking about it so much that even Elio noticed. What’s the point of trying to ignore the elephant in the room?

He looks at his lover, sat on the couch, legs crossed. He looks at the way he lifts the mug to his lips, and takes a sip.

The vision of that mouth, red and heart-shaped, almost makes him change his mind, persuades him to drop the questions and just kiss the boy, push him down onto the cushions. He thinks of the afternoon of great sex he could have, or possibly a discussion - or at the very least, a very awkward conversation, instead - if he does ask.

The sex would be good, would put him in a great mood - but then the doubts and overthinking would return.

And so Oliver decides to speak.

“I bumped into Ash on Monday, downstairs, as I was leaving to go to my meeting.”

Elio nods slowly. “Okay.”

“He asked me...when you’re going to move in with me. Because they need to look for a new roommate to take your place.”

It takes a moment, but realisation blooms in Elio’s eyes, and they change expression - from confused, to understanding, to worried. He bites his lower lip.

Oliver wants to say something else. Wants to add that, well, that’s what he’s been thinking about. He’s been thinking about what made Elio change his mind.

But that sounds desperate even to his own ears, and so he keeps quiet, waits for Elio to speak.

“Oliver, I-“ Elio starts. Tries again. “I just, didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Oliver frowns. He nods, slowly.

“Right. Not a good idea.”

“Not in general,” Elio adds quickly. “Just, maybe for now. I mean, I don’t know.”

“What does that even mean?” Oliver says, before checking himself, closing his mouth. It definitely sounds like he snapped at Elio, and so he rushes to correct himself. “You know what, ignore me. Sorry. It’s fine. Let’s not talk about this.”

Elio looks up at him, the corners of his mouth pulled down. “You’re angry,” he asks. His voice low.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m really not.” Oliver has never been a good actor. But he does try to calm down - he shouldn’t read too much into this whole thing. Overthinking is never going to yield anything good.

Elio sighs, and then, after one more look at him, he leans forward, hands on Oliver’s knees, pushes his forehead into Oliver’s chest.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Oliver says, and it’s hard, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s not going to solve anything nor quench his self-doubt, but it’s the right thing to do. Elio should not feel like he has to do this or that he’s been pressured into it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I asked you,” Elio murmurs, lifts up his head and looks into Oliver’s eyes. “Look, I - Oliver, I love you. I’m sorry that - I shouldn’t have mentioned to the guys before talking to you. But I just -“ and here, he looks down, looks up again, and he’s biting his lower lip once more. “I don’t want to cause you problems.”

Oliver frowns.

“What problems?”

“The other day. When your sister called, I - I understand, if you, if you need to keep them off your back. So this is why I... I thought I wouldn’t say anything.”

Oliver stares at Elio, trying to read his face, his expression. He seems sincere - not that Oliver thinks he’s lying.

He sighs, then runs a hand through his hair.

“Well. Now I understand. How it feels when, someone tries to protect you without - you having asked for it.”

He doesn’t put any heat whatsoever in the words, and he hopes it shows; he gives a little smile, after - because really, he isn’t angry. He’s done this to Elio before, himself, this wanting to shield him from consequences, this making decisions for him thinking it would be for Elio’s own good. He can’t really blame Elio for his line of thoughts - I guess it came naturally to him, just like it did to Oliver. 

Elio holds his gaze for a moment and then looks away, looks down, there’s colour on his cheeks like he’s embarrassed.

“Now, you’re mad,” he murmurs quietly.

“No. I’m not mad,” Oliver says, gives him a little smile. There’s a thought in his head, a conviction, which has been there for a while but has now just solidified.

He takes Elio’s empty cup from his hands and places it on the coffee table, next to his own.

Then, he pulls up on the couch, nudges Elio to lie down, lies next to him. The space is tight for the both of them, but Oliver holds his arm around Elio’s waist, pushes his nose into the side of the boy’s throat. Breathes deep in there, Elio’s scent.

“It’s all good,” he murmurs to him. And then closes his eyes, hoping that Elio does the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio is still napping on the couch and doesn’t wake up when Oliver untangles gently from him, goes to sit at the table, pen and paper in his hands, and his eyes on the boy to watch for any movement.

He writes quickly and concisely, and his hand moves almost on its own, with certainty.

Perhaps writing a letter could seem like he’s hiding. Other people might say he should face them, say things in person.

But there’s no point. What he’s about to say is not open to debate, not subject to questioning and fighting. He’s just stating facts, the truth.

He’s writing to his parents, he’s telling them that he has a partner. He’s telling them that they can do whatever they want, think whatever they want, but this is who he is, who he wants to be, who he’s always been.

Elio is who he wants to be with.

He’s clear, but polite - he doesn’t care to create even more of a conflict. If a conflict happens, then Oliver will not take part in it.

As much as the past hurt, he’s not going to let it touch him now.

As he closes the envelope, and writes the address on the back, his hands don’t even shake. It does feel like a possible end - but a beginning, also, for him.

He stands, looks at Elio again. Wonders if he should tell him that he’s stepping out for a moment, has an errand to run.

But then Elio would wake up, and Oliver’d rather do this quickly - like a break-up, like pulling off a band-aid.

He leaves the apartment, the letter clutched in his hand.

Already looking forward to being back and having warm, sleepy Elio in his arms, waking him up with kisses, making love to him right there on the couch.

The rest, the future, waiting to unspool, as it might.


	13. Chapter 13

Elio still kisses like when he was seventeen.

With the same passion and fearlessness, the same messy eagerness, the same greedy way he had back then to ask for more, to open his mouth for Oliver, to breathe the same air.

Elio is unruly and stubborn, and Oliver has to frame his face with his hands, to tame him and make him accept his guidance.

And even now, as they get lost in more and more kisses against the door of Oliver’s apartment, even now that Oliver’s head is screaming to stop, be careful of prying eyes - even now his large hand is firm against Elio’s cheek and throat, holding him still, so that Oliver can kiss him as deeply as he wants to.

“Just stay the night,” Oliver growls without ceremony against the delicate patch of skin just below Elio’s ear. He knows that Elio can feel his erection against him.

Elio makes a sound like he’s wounded. 

“I just can’t miss class tomorrow and I will if I come in now,” he groans, his eyes closed. He lays his head back against the wooden door, and Oliver takes advantage, his teeth latching on to the side of Elio’s neck and biting, mouth sucking a bruise there. Elio whimpers, but doesn’t make even a feeble attempt to stop him.

“I will kick you out tomorrow at 6am on the dot,” Oliver proposes against his neck.

Elio giggles quietly, disbelieving.

“I promise,” Oliver continues. “I only want you for sex, anyway.”

That earns him a push against his chest, and so he seizes Elio’s wrists before the boy can move away and holds them back, against Elio’s back, caging him against himself, mouth almost on his mouth.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Elio exclaims, his voice high pitched until he remembers it’s nearly midnight and they’re in the corridor of their apartment building, and so he whispers. “Okay. I’ll sleep over.”

Oliver smiles wide, victorious, and then kisses Elio’s mouth once more as a thank you.

He releases the boy’s wrists and goes to open the door. And when he’s stepped inside and to the side, to let Elio in, his eyes land on the envelope he left on the table that same morning.

Elio’s eyes follow his.

“What’s that?”

“Ah.” Oliver picks it up. “Arrived today for me, picked it up from Nigel this morning but then I had to come back to the apartment to get the book I forgot, and left the letter here. I was in such a rush.”

He tears the paper to open the envelope, and pulls out the note that’s inside.

The hand writing is instantly recognisable to him.

“Who’s it from?” Elio asks, taking off his jacket slowly.

“It’s - a letter. From my mother.”

Oliver has to clear his throat as he says the words. It’s like his voice wants to stop working.

He stands there, holding the letter, and reads it quietly.

 

_Dear Oliver,_

 

_I hope this letter of mine finds you well._

_I am writing after receiving your own message, with which you told us your intention to have a man as your partner._

_I don’t want to say any of the things you expect me to, because I know you know them already._

_You know your father is extremely disappointed and saddened. This was not how he raised you to be. We just expected something different, as you are aware._

_Ideals and beliefs can be so different from one generation to the other, and we fail to remember this. However, this does not mean the new way of life is better or more appropriate than the one which preceded it. Your father knows this. You know this._

_I know this._

_He has decided to cease contacts with you, Oliver. And I respect his decision. I always have, and always will._

_It seems after all that our ways of life are too different to be compatible, and for us to understand you, or you to understand us._

_But, this said; as your mother, I want to let you know, with this letter, that I love you. I always will. You remain my son, and that cannot be changed._

_I wish you all the good that the world can give. And I pray that we will be brought back together, one day._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Your mother_

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What does it say?” Elio asks, tentatively.

Oliver cannot answer.

The hand that holds the letter is trembling, and he keeps looking at the handwritten words, simultaneously disbelieving, and completely unsurprised.

He knows that his father would have never accepted what he told them, and he’s okay with it. It doesn’t hurt any more than it did before.

He also knew that his mother would stand by his father - that, also, is not a surprise.

But the letter, itself, is a surprise. The words his mother wrote him, are a surprise. That ‘I love you’, openly gaping athim in black ink, is a huge, heartbreaking surprise.

He feels Elio’s arms around him before he even realises the boy has come closer. He lets himself be wrapped in the embrace, bows his head so he can hide his face into Elio’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around him and hugs, and Elio holds him, in response.

It’s been so long since Oliver has cried, that his eyes almost burn when the tears spill out, and wet the cotton of Elio’s shirt. When more tears come out, Elio hugs him tighter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Oliver opens his eyes. Looks at Elio, lying beside him, in their bed.

“I’m not unhappy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Elio’s eyes are open, search Oliver’s, examine his face and the red on his skin.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly.

“Yes. I’m sure. Of course I’m sure.” Oliver smiles, and it’s not forced. He isn’t lying.

“No, I mean. Are you sure. Are you sure of what you’ve done.” Elio takes a breath, doesn’t move his gaze from Oliver’s eyes. “Are you sure it’s really what you choose.”

Oliver sets his jaw, and then places his hand over Elio’s, on the mattress in between them.

“There’s nothing to choose. I want to be with you. I want to be who I want.” He sighs, strokes Elio’s thumb. “That’s the only decision I had to make.”

Elio looks at him, for a few long moments. Then his perfect mouth stretches in to a smile, and he nods on his pillow.

“Well...there’s a decision I had to make, too,” he says, and his eyes are dark emerald, and gleam in the darkness. “But it was a really easy one. Because I love you. Now even more than before.”

Oliver is speechless for a moment. He can only stare at Elio, fearful of having misunderstood, but knowing well that he hasn’t.

Still, he asks anyway, with a tentative voice.

“So are you saying that you’ll..”

“I’ll move in with you,” Elio finishes the sentence for him, and he’s still smiling wide. “If you still want me to, that is.”

Oliver laughs, tenderly. And Elio smiles back, and no more words are needed, not tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any typos! I wanted to post before going to bed..
> 
> Comments? X


	14. Chapter 14

“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to them?” Abigail asks, her hands wrapped around the cup of coffee she is sipping from. Oliver has met her at the cafe around the corner, the one he and Elio used to go to all the time together. It’s his favorite, now.

“Nah. It’s as if you don’t know them,” Oliver comments, but it’s not a real criticism, of course. His lips are curved into a small smile.

Abigail rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I guess I live on hope.” She sighs. “I don’t know why I thought that mom would not side with father. That’s what she’s always done, after all. Right down to that time I wanted a bike, and he said I was too young for it. And I was sixteen.”

Oliver chuckles, and it’s part bitter, part resigned.

“It’s really - okay. I’m fine, I’m happy. I have Elio. It’s all I want.”

“Well. You have me, too! Your big sister. Don’t you forget it.”

Oliver smiles at her.

“Come on, big sister. I need to go and help Elio move all his suitcases of stuff into my apartment,” he says, standing up and throwing his plastic cup into the garbage bin.

Abigail stands too, still sipping what’s left of her coffee. “The big day!”, she coos as she follows Oliver out of the cafe.

“The big day,” Oliver repeats, softly to himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elio’s put everything into big cardboard boxes, and he keeps repeating that he’s sure he’s forgotten stuff around.

“You’re only going to be two floors down,” Matt says, watching him.

Elio’s even wearing his woolly hat, hair curling out from the edges, because it didn’t fit in the last box and he’s got so much other stuff to carry.

“Man, I don’t even know how you have so much crap,” Ash comments, as he lounges on the couch, eyes glued to a football match on the tv. “I swear I have, like. Three outfits. Four with my work uniform.”

“That’s because Elio is a clotheshorse,” Oliver says, from the corner of the room where he’s been standing, watching the scene with an amused expression on his face.

Elio frowns at him, his lips pinched, but it just looks adorable with the bright blue hat on his head.

“If you’re all done laughing at me,” he says, playfully put out, “I’m ready to move out, now.”

Matt is standing in front of him, and uncrosses his arms at that, waits for Elio to turn around and look at him.

“Well. I will miss you,” the boy says, smiling at Elio, a little sadly.

Elio smiles back. “Well, as somebody said: I’m only going to be two floors down.”

He steps forward, and wraps his arms around Matt’s neck, lets the other boy’s own arms circle his waist.

Oliver watches, as the two hug for a few moments. Matt is looking at him, past Elio’s shoulder, with a little smile on his face as he says, “Oliver’s still the luckiest guy on the planet.”

And Oliver really does feel like he is - so, he can’t protest.

“I love you,” Elio tells Matt, and then steps back, turns towards Ash and nudges his leg with a hand.

“Bye to you too, Ash. Remember I still want to be invited to your boozy nights out.”

Leaving the apartment is bittersweet - Oliver can feel it, too. It was Elio’s first experience of living away from his parents; he knows the boy isn’t going to forget it.

But stepping into his own apartment, with Elio’s boxes, feels new, and exciting. Oliver feels like he’s got this huge, wonderful treasure he’s bringing back. A treasure that will be there with him, now, one he’ll be able to see every day no matter how busy their lives get.

“Hey,hey,” Oliver says, stops Elio on the threshold as he’s about to come in. “I need to carry you inside.”

Elio’s eyes go wide, and then crinkly at the corners as he laughs.

“Stop, you big dork.”

“Nah, it’s the rules. C’mere.”

Oliver steps forward, and picks Elio up with his arms under the boy’s rump - so Elio has no choice but to wrap his legs around Oliver’s waist, cling to his neck with his arms. 

“Oliver! You dork, put me down!” Elio shrieks, laughs, protests even while he’s holding on.

And when he’s securely wrapped around Oliver, the older man kicks the door closed, and then carries the boy towards the wall until he can prop him up against it.

Oliver pushes him against it. Pushes his groin against Elio’s - and Elio’s playful protests die down, right there and then.

“Welcome to our apartment,” Oliver growls softly against Elio’s lips.

And then kisses him.

Kisses him, deeply and hungrily, and pushes his groin against him again and again, hot and insistent, until Elio starts to whimper quietly in his mouth. He’s clinging to Oliver’s neck with his arms and to Oliver’s waist with his long, slender legs.

Oliver wants to get rid of his pants and fuck him right there, right then.

“You gonna fuck me now?” Elio asks. On cue.

“Guess you can read my mind,” Oliver murmurs back, looking into his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It seems they can’t stop kissing, even after, even when they’re naked, and sweaty, and exhausted. With the bedsheets half pooled on the floor, half tangled in with their limbs, tangled into each other.

Oliver can’t stop kissing Elio, can’t stop touching him, as he lies on top of him. As if his attraction, his desire towards his young lover has increased tenfold the very moment Elio stepped inside his apartment, officially as his live-in partner. 

“Does it count as having christened the bed,” Elio says, huskily, his eyes looking up straight into Oliver’s, mouth inches from Oliver’s mouth, “if we’ve already had sex here, before?”

Oliver smiles.

“Yes. Yes, it counts.”

And they kiss again. Kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Twitter: [here](https://twitter.com/TeahousemoonAo3)
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> Love from me xx


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